Chimera Fields slow burn

It hadn’t been snowing — hadn’t in a while, actually — and the night air was bright and crisp. It was invigorating and the woman found herself entirely engrossed in the act of simply breathing that sweet ether, feeling the air run past her inkblot nose and deep into her belly. Her feathered tail gently swayed and twitched upon the ground at her side in the grips of her most earnest concentration, and she tried to count the stars but eventually her mossy eyes would always slip closed and she would return to that easy act of breathing and appreciate the sensation of moonglow upon her mottled pelt.

Olive was quick to discern when another’s scent clung to air and ceded her supine posture for one of piqued attention; Olive no longer trusted others for the simple reason of their innate goodness — who knew if that was even real, really — and if this was how she regarded wolves she did know, then consider it to be tripled when it came down to those she considered strangers. From her belly, the fae pushed to rise upon willowed limbs and drifted across the fields, the winter zephyrs running their fingers through the golden grass threads and creating a path which Olive used to weave her way towards the scent. Up until now, she thought she had been alone.

Eventually, Olive could see it was a woman reclining upon the roots of a tree and, almost immediately, she deigned it to be no threat. “Oh, hello!” the doe called out, taking light steps to close the distance between them. Then, with a glimmer of hopefulness writ across her pointed features, Olive found stillness and waited to be invited closer. Perhaps this wolf was not looking for company, and that would be very sad for Olive indeed!